Hot and Cold
by Secondhand Soul
Summary: Two paths diverge in a lonely wood and he took the one less traveled. 100 Kratos and Lloyd father-son moments. Not all fluff and joy - Major angst and awkwardness, but what else is to be expected of these two?
1. Lies

Hot and Cold: 100 Father-Son Moments

By Seondhand Soul

"Lies"

Lloyd pulled his legs to his chest, staring out the window of the inn, much grander than any inn he'd ever stayed in before, even the one in Palmacosta, with its bathhouses and feather-stuffed pillows. But he supposed that's what it meant to be in the flourishing world, where even he could tell the Mana was thicker.

He felt sluggish, and not because he was bandaged head to toe from his fights at the Tower of Salvation. Lloyd was oppressed by a nagging feeling of constant sorrow, his heart festering like a wound that the Professor's spells and no amount of apple gels could cure.

Frustrated, he stood and began to pace, despite his aching wounds, despite the fact that he had pushed himself too hard trying to escape from the Renegade Base and get everyone to this Meltokio place safely. Maybe that was the problem, maybe it was because he didn't have anything to help distract him from his own feelings, but there was a lot going on inside of him right now that he couldn't reconcile.

_Do not exhaust yourself, Lloyd. _

He could hear the voice, stern and chiding, could almost feel the hands on his shoulders as he was firmly pushed back onto the bed, remembering a scene not so different from this the first time he had escaped from that place. They hadn't known one another very well, but even then the mercenary had his best interests in mind. Lloyd had never doubted that.

Until now.

Now there was no mercenary standing in the corner watching him with shadowed eyes, no constant and comforting familial presence that blanketed Lloyd in the security that he wasn't the only one who knew what it felt like to grieve. There was nothing but a hole in his heart where that man had placed himself, the man he had thought he could trust with his life.

"I won't cry!" Lloyd growled, something inside of him snapping as he lashed out, his fist slamming into the wall where it left a deep dent. "Not because of you, you bastard! You don't even deserve my tears!"

But they came anyway, hot and wet, just as the strength left Lloyd's knees and he sank to the ground, cradling his newly bleeding knuckle in his lap. Silent sobs racked his body, sobs caused by a pain that was not from his bruised rib or his black eye, nor even from his dislocated shoulder and battered hands. It was a pain born from his heart, from the knife stabbed there when those normally kind eyes turned cold and cruel –

_I am one of the Four Seraphim of Cruxis, the organization that guides this world, sent to keep close watch over The Chosen. _

He shivered.

Maybe, maybe he could have dealt with this if that one thing hadn't been true. Maybe he could have dealt with all of this if he wasn't alone in this room right now while the Professor was with Genis and Colette in a different room. If … If that bastard had actually been what he said he was, maybe he could have someone to talk to right now about how much it hurt to lose the person that meant most to him in all the world.

He could imagine it, those dark eyes filled with concern, that deep voice urging him to speak about it, hands carefully pouring over and rechecking his already bandaged wounds.

_You have pushed yourself too hard, though I do not blame you. _

He would have understood, would have understood what it meant for Lloyd to lose Colette, the one person who had inspired him most. She believed in him and treated him like a person, even when no one else did, back then, when they were both kids. To everyone else he was just some freaky outsider being raised by a non-Human, but to her she was Lloyd, just Lloyd, and that was all he had ever needed to be to make her smile.

Not seeing her smile … It had shattered him.

_Do not worry. Did you not say it yourself? There is always a way. We are here in Tethe'alla now, Lloyd. We will find a way to save her._

"Shut up!" He shouted, curling in on himself, tears falling freely now from his eyes, his nose running as he shook with the force of his sorrow. "Shut up! No one asked you! I don't need your help!"

But he did.

Lloyd couldn't afford to lie to himself anymore. He couldn't do to himself what had been done to him – He had to be honest. He needed Kratos right now, more than anything. He needed those cold hands and that quiet voice, and he needed Kratos' quiet way of telling him he was wrong without ever pushing him too far.

He needed Kratos to correct him, to give him advice, to help him work out how to feel in this situation.

But he didn't have that.

He couldn't have that.

He would never have that again because Kratos had lied.

Colette wasn't the only person Lloyd had lost in the Tower of Salvation.

"Why?" Lloyd forced himself to uncurl, to stand and walk back over to the bed and sit down. "Why did you do this to me? You're … You're like my brother … You _were _like my brother."

Though before he could imagine what Kratos might have said, could almost hear his voice in the darkness, this time there was nothing but silence ringing in his ears.

And that was because he couldn't no matter how hard he tried he couldn't have ever imagined Kratos doing something like this. There was nothing that could have convinced him that steady presence, the man who had taught him swordsmanship, was actually an evil Angel out to take Colette to her death.

Nothing about the way he acted had ever hinted at this, if anything, Lloyd had thought Kratos had … Had really loved him the same way he loved Kratos. He thought Kratos cared about him like family … But … But …

He was wrong.

Kratos was the reason he was nursing these wounds. Kratos was the reason that Colette was soulless. Kratos was the reason Lloyd's eyes stung from crying.

Yet …

Yet …

_Do not throw your life away!_

_Boy, calm down and think things through before you act! Do you think your parents would want you to waste what they gave you?_

_Your mother and father would be proud to see their son still cares for them, so –_

_You do not need to thank me for helping you seek vengeance, Lloyd. You are not the only one who has lost people that he has loved … _

_What would you want done with you? If your life had been taken by an Exsphere? I would want to be of use to someone with the will to break this tragic cycle … _

_It was your father who killed your mother … Are you sure you can forgive him?_

… _Go with you? Hm … I'll … Think about it._

_If it's something you can do over … Feel free._

_Lloyd._

_Do not die. _

It was so hard to believe that those words had been spoken in malice.

"Why, Kratos?" Lloyd lay down and stared at the window, though which he could only see the tops of the buildings and the sun sinking lower and lower between them. "Why did you do this to us? We trusted you …" He closed his eyes, exhausted enough to sleep, but he was certain sleep wouldn't come for many more hours. "**I** trusted you."

Again, there was no answer, only the throbbing of the headache that had started to grow between his eyes, and the silence of the void Kratos had made in his heart.

Nothing was left to comfort Lloyd now, nothing but the lies Kratos had used to make Lloyd trust him, and the final lesson that sometimes the only one you could rely on was yourself.


	2. Believable

Hot and Cold: 100 Father-Son Moments

By Secondhand Soul

"Believable"

Kratos stared at the boy sleeping in the bed across from him, watching expressions play across his face as he dreamed, watching his fist clench and unclench as if gripping at invisible swords. He recalled the last time he'd seen those hands, though back then they were too small to wrap around even two of his fingers completely. Back then, Kratos' hand could engulf his completely.

Time had changed all of that.

That boy was staring to look like a grown man now, though he still had to grow into his large ears, the ears that reminded Kratos of his mother, who had always felt so ashamed of them. Kratos had never minded them, after all, everyone had parts of them that they found unattractive, to which she had joked that he didn't because his everything was perfect.

She had only been able to do such a thing because she understood how much there was about himself that he loathed.

Looking at the child, though, he did not see much of her, which … Disappointed him. Looking into the face of that boy, Kratos only found it all too believable that Lloyd was _**his**_ son. The same nose, the same eyes, the same body shape, even the same browline, though it was much less noticeable on someone as relaxed and easygoing as the boy seemed to be.

He didn't want Lloyd to look like him.

Kratos worried that it was a sign that Lloyd was like him in other ways - that Lloyd was prone to falling into the same despair. That was why he found his dependence on The Chosen so deeply concerning, because it meant that Lloyd was prone to the same dependence on other people. He wanted the boy to be strong, he wanted him to be happy, he …

Groaning, Kratos sat up, finding himself unable to even feign sleep with this child in the same room. It was too overwhelming, too overwhelming to be with him again after so long, even if he had no idea that Kratos was his …

Well, his sire, he supposed.

He would never be Lloyd's father.

Standing, he strode outside, careful not to be too loud as he exited the Inn and sat on a bench outside, staring into the abandoned Palmacosta streets, the cool, salty air clearing his head. It didn't change the way he felt about anything, but at least he could think again, his mind no longer haunted by images of that boy's face as a child.

_Papa! Papa!_

He could almost hear him laughing, squealing as his father swung him upwards and placed him on his shoulders.

_Stow-ee tonight? _

Kratos could hear the man that wore his face but was not himself smiling and laughing in response at his son's greedy question.

**Of course, son. **

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, taking a deep and cleansing breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side as he gulped in the air. Time could never come back, he could never regain those years. They were gone forever, just as that boy and his father were gone, replaced by this strange, energetic young man and this grim ghost of a mercenary.

"What're you doing out here?"

Kratos' entire body stiffened and he snapped his head around to glare at the intruder, who just shrugged and sat next to him, casting his arms carelessly behind his head. They didn't look at each other, for which Kratos was secretly grateful.

He was still too emotional to face this familiar stranger head on.

"I thought you were sleeping so I went to get some air," he explained. "I've been restless since we came ashore."

Lloyd snorted. "Well, I know what you mean. I just woke up about two minutes ago. I haven't been able to sleep without the rocking of the boat. It's really weird."

Amused, Kratos chanced a glance at the boy, who was staring at him now with a frown on his face, hands still cusped behind his head. "Are you sure you're okay, Kratos?"

Hm.

Perhaps he was more like his mother than Kratos had thought.

"I am simply … A bit weary," he admitted. "I have had much weighing on my mind lately, but I will be fine." Quashing the urge to stroke the locket that he wore hidden beneath his high collar, Kratos chuckled a bit at this child, who could so easily complain about such things and become serious a moment later. "It took you a week to get your sea legs, boy, and now you're complaining about being back on land?"

"Shut up!" Lloyd punched him in the arm, grinning from ear to ear. "Not everyone can be as good at everything as you are, Mister "I Have Done Some Sailing Before".' His imitation of Kratos' voice was almost as endearing as it was annoying.

"Tell me, how do you think I travel from continent to continent?" Kratos arched his eyebrows and then snorted, smiling slightly in his tired way. "You lived in one village your entire life. You can only grow."

"… Yeah," Lloyd leaned against his shoulder, making him tense up slightly just as he did every time this boy touched him (he remembered when the man he had been would freely lean into those tiny touches). "I still can't believe I'm here. It's so … Weird."

It was Kratos' turn to snort. "You'd best start believing, boy. Your life is in real danger."

"I know that!" Lloyd snapped, drawing back slightly, forcing Kratos to pretend that he didn't lament the lack of contact between them. The boy's face fell. "I just … I think I realized that what I'm doing is a really serious thing. It's … It's not a small thing to try to take revenge, to try and change and protect people."

"You feel you are not strong enough," it wasn't a question and Lloyd knew it, Kratos could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the silent pleading of his expression.

"I want to be stronger. I want to protect the people I care about," Lloyd told him, glancing away from Kratos and looking back into the darkness; Kratos found it impossible not to notice the red coloring his cheeks. "I bet someone like you never has any troubles protecting the people _you_ care about."

He almost choked.

"We all have moments of weakness, Lloyd," he tore his eyes from the child. "But you want to change; you recognize your mistakes and are making an attempt not to repeat them. As long as you maintain that attitude, you will grow stronger."

Lloyd looked relieved, and Kratos realized with a pang that what Lloyd had been searching for was his approval. This boy … Wanted Kratos to be proud of him. It hurt as much as it made him glad.

"You mean that?"

Kratos could only nod.

In response, Lloyd grinned and clasped Kratos on his shoulder. "Good. I'm going to go back to bed now, okay? Just don't stay up all night. We need you, as much as it pisses me off to have to admit it."

It was a joke, and Kratos simply shook his head in amusement. "It looks as if you've finally learned some humility."

Lloyd punched his arm again, harder this time, before turning around and waving.

Maybe, Kratos realized as that boy disappeared into the building, it wasn't so hard to believe that he was Anna's son after all.


	3. Get Up

Hot and Cold: 100 Father-Son Moments

By Secondhand Soul

"Get Up"

Lloyd struggled to his feet, wiping his chin only to find his hand came away covered in blood. Grinning savagely, he stalked forward, pulling his sword from the soft earth as he advanced on his opponent, jumping into the air and landing a blow against the thick exoskeleton of the flaming warrior. It was hard work, whittling away at the monster, and Lloyd found it was even harder to work with his friends to fight in this dim light.

All he could do was look out for himself and hope it was enough.

Grunting as he landed, Lloyd swung his left hand upward to block the blow that was coming down from him, digging his heels into the ground to keep his footing. He managed to, but the blow sent him flying back, and twisted the wrist he'd blocked with awkwardly. Hissing, he dropped his blade and quickly fumbled for it when he realized that the monster was stalking toward him slowly.

Step, drag, step, drag …

That sight coupled with those burning molten eyes was enough to make him freeze where he kneeled, hand outstretched for his weapon.

"Get up!"

The deep voice was nearly as jarring as the hand dragging him up by his collar, almost choking him off. He blinked, too off guard to be angry, finding himself staring at the mercenary's back instead of his front as he strode forward, blade glinting in the firelight. He was so relaxed, his steps and attitude so purposeful and deliberate that Lloyd almost didn't catch the brief pause in which all of the man's muscles coiled in anticipation before he charged their foe.

The difference between them was a chasm.

The first slice was elegant and hit the creature straight across the chest with such force and precision that it had to have been a deliberate blow at a known weak spot. It sent the monster stumbling backwards with a shriek, clutching at its chest in vain as something like magma seeped from the wound, making it unable to parry or dodge the crushing blow that the mercenary delivered to its left shoulder, loping its arm clean off.

The beast fell to the ground writing in pain and the man clad in near black gracefully sidestepped the falling beast, stabbing it in the head. Its death knell echoed about them before everything fell into stifling silence, interrupted only by the sound of Kratos' footfalls as he approached Lloyd, only to roughly grab him by the front of the shirt and shake him.

"W-what the hell?!" Lloyd reached out to grab Kratos back, but flinched when he realized his wrist was still sprained.

Kratos didn't miss his grimace.

Backing away, he roughly seized the boy's arm and placed a hand over it. After a moment or so, a glow emanated from the man's palm and the pain dissipated. "Stupid boy!" he snapped. "Foolish child! You could have died!"

"I- I …" Lloyd wanted to protest, but looking into Kratos' face he found no malice, only true concern behind the anger. "I'm … I'm sorry."

Kratos, still holding his wrist, pushed him away. "You'd best be. What would you do if I had to tell The Chosen your own recklessness had gotten you killed?"

His jaw hung open a bit and the mercenary snorted, backing away and rubbing his wrists. "Let's go. We don't have time for this. We have to keep moving and break this seal …"

Lloyd watched Kratos storm away, leaving him with a sick feeling in the pit of his gut that told him that, no matter how much he may hate to admit it, Kratos was right.


	4. Memorial

Hot and Cold

By Secondhand Soul

"Memorial"

His hand traced the shapes carved in the granite, admiring the craftsmanship of the stonework. It was remarkable, really, elegant and beautiful. The craftsman had clearly wrought the headstone with care, had chiseled the words "Anna Irving, loving mother" into the surface of the stone to stand monument to her sacrifice.

Four words, and they didn't even fully encompass her.

It was so hard for him to look at, so difficult for him to imagine her beneath this dirt, nothing but bones now. Bones that had once bore flesh, flesh that had housed a soul, the woman he had loved and held for such a brief time, the mother of the child who currently stood only yards away, chatting with his friend about some inane thing or another.

This did nothing to truly capture who she had been, the person whom he had loved with all of his being, the woman he had killed with that same love.

It was not something he needed to be told, that he had killed her, he could still remember the feeling of his blade sliding home into her body, could remember watching the life fade from her. It was still so vivid in his mind, so real, made more painful by having to return to this place once more. And now … This boy … Kratos looked back to him briefly, and still he could not believe he wasn't dreaming.

This child was his.

His boy.

His Lloyd.

His son.

Alive all this time when Kratos had thought him dead as his mother.

He was alive.

Kratos quickly turned his face away, his heart flaring with feelings of long forgotten affection. It swelled in his chest, that paternal emotion, his love for his son, along with memories of the time they'd spent together, mingling and making him feel nearly giddy with relief.

Even if Lloyd did not know him, even if he did not remember Kratos, he was alive.

Alive.

And that was all that mattered.

His son was alive.

"What're you doing back here?"

Kratos froze for a moment, composed himself, and turned around, facing the boy who he'd spent most of the day with, the young man who was his son. His eyes darted over every inch of that face, memorizing it so that he would not forget during the hard journey ahead, even though he would never see his boy again.

At least, if all went as planned, he would not.

"I was paying my respects to the dead," Kratos said simply, turning back to the grave of his beloved.

How he wished he had something to offer her, a small token of his affection, but he was empty handed before her once again. Kratos had never been able to give her a wedding ring, and he could not even leave flowers at her grave now.

"… Yeah? You're … kind of a weird guy, you know? I don't think many people like to go back here, they think it's –" He cut himself off. "Why am I even telling you this?"

Kratos simply shook his head. "Is this your mother's grave?"

He did not need the confirmation, not really, but hearing it from Lloyd's own lips would make him feel better about his assessment. It would drive away all other uncertainty and leave him with nothing but the truth.

"You heard that argument before, right?" Lloyd kneeled down on the ground before the grave, placing his hand on the surface of the headstone. "This is my Mom. She was killed by Desians."

"I see," he paused, pursing his lips together before kneeling down beside the boy. "This stone … Did your Father make it?"

He could feel Lloyd's eyes on him, and from the corner of his eye, saw the boy blinking owlishly at him. "You mean Dirk?"

Kratos nodded stiffly.

"Yeah. We … We never found Dad, but Dad made this for Mom … It's always been here, long as I can remember. Just like she has. I know she's always watching over me, somehow," Kratos looked to the boy, watching as he absently rubbed the back of his hand, where his Exsphere had been covered by bandages again. "Why?"

"The craftsmanship is very fine," he muttered. "Do you think your father is still alive?"

He'd regretted it almost immediately after he'd said it, watching as Lloyd's face took on an unmistakable expression of anger and pain. "I don't know," he snapped, then took a deep breath, "but Drik is my Dad."

"… Yes, I am sorry. That was a careless thing to ask." He made his tone firm and moved to walk away, leaving Lloyd gaping after him.

Each step pained him as he walked away, for he wished he could stay with his family in that clearing, but those days were long gone and the chance to be happy had all be escaped him.

Her gravestone was all that remained, a memorial to all he had lost and to his new promise to protect their son with his very breath.

Regardless of whether the boy could remember him or not.


End file.
